Reincarnation
by KivaEmber
Summary: On Halloween 1981, Britain’s most Dark Lord died thanks to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. L Lawliet, soon-to-be World’s Greatest Detective, was born on Halloween 1981...or rather, Tom Riddle was. HPxDN Crossover
1. Prologue

**Title: **Reincarnation

**Rating: **T+

**Warning: **Crossover, AU themes, Fantasy themes, violence, profanities, blasphemy, the dabbling of a bored authoress...

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter of Death Note, thank you very much. Though I wish I did...

**Summary: **On Halloween 1981, Britain's most Dark Lord died thanks to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. L Lawliet, soon-to-be World's Greatest Detective, was born on Halloween 1981...or rather, Tom Riddle was. HPxDN Crossover

**A/N: **I had noticed that Voldemort in Harry Potter died on the same day as L Lawliet was born, therefore, this had to be written! XD

Okays, this isn't going to be a cliché, 'oh noes! L is goin' 2 hogwarts!!11 Lol!1!' Well, L will be going to Hogwarts, but it won't be to learn to do magic tricks, voluntarily, mind you. L is going to be his usual creepy, wide eyed self, at ten years old (because c'mon, imagining L as a ten year old is sooooo cute!), but there's gonna be subtle differences, especially as the years grind on. I may or may not end this story as canon, I'm just writing this to see I can write a successful Harry Potter and Death Note crossover.

Well, enjoy!

PS: Raito isn't in this guys, sorry.

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"_The Devil tempts, but the idle man tempts the Devil."_

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**PROLOGUE**

"_Aveda Kedavra."_

Lord Voldemort knew something was off as soon as he had finished the last syllable of the curse, crimson eyes narrowing as the incandescent green light surged towards the infant in the crib with startling speed, his muscles tensing up a gravity suddenly, without reason, began to increase.

His suspicion was proved true when the Killing Curse, the curse that would finally wrench away the only thing that could kill him, ricocheted violently from the babe's forehead, the green light emitting a screech as it collapsed into itself before exploding back towards him, the magic sparking and hissing viciously.

Lord Voldemort hissed, his own magic unfurling to meet the threat shooting towards him and lashed outwards. The sickly grey and green magic was sliced clean through, the Dark Lord shrieking an inhuman scream of agony and fear as the rebounded curse punched into his chest and gnawed its way into his body, pumping into every vein and artery, boiling his blood and burning his organs in a haze of torturous fire.

Panicked, the Dark Lord frantically tried to shy away from the pain, condensing his magic inwards to coat his inner Magical Core from permanent harm and, by extension, the remaining scrap of soul left in his body. As he felt his body disintegrate to ash, Lord Voldemort spat and struggled against the Killing Curse he cast trying to eat through his shields, trying to detach himself from his now useless body.

Lord Voldemort managed to push the curse away long enough to tear himself out of his corpse, screaming in mindless rage as he rose up through the air as nothing more then a transparent spectre, unable to touch the mortal world. He hissed hatefully at the crying babe in the cot, his magic coiling itself tightly round his body as a metaphysical serpent, crimson eyes flashing at the squalling child.

Unfortunately, the Dark Lord's distraction was enough for the Killing Curse (now beginning to give up in trying to claim the elusive 'soul' behind impregnable shields) to slip in through the cracks, the burning green clawing at the remnants of Lord Voldemort's soul and torn it asunder for one final time.

The Dark Lord, screamed, both with rage and agony, and shoved the Killing Curse away from his core, the green light smouldering into embers and sparking along the carpet where tiny flames of green began gnawing at the fibres. He rose up, away from the babe and the growing green fire and fled, using his magic to try and hold his ribbon shred soul together long enough for him to gain a host and mend it that way.

Lord Voldemort did not feel a sliver of himself peel away, the only blemish of white slipping away from the mass of sick grey and green.

**X.x.X**

On Halloween 1981, L Lawliet was born at 11:59pm, healthy and alive, despite the doctors who said that he should be, by all medical evidence, stillborn.

It was almost like Magic.

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**A/N: **Interested? This is just to see what response I'd get for doing this so I'd only continue if there's popular demand.

Hope y'all enjoyed!


	2. Begin

**Title: **Reincarnation

**Rating: **T+

**Warnings: **Crossover, AU themes, fantasy themes, wizards, witches, magical creatures, blasphemy, violence, profanities.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own!

**Summary: **On Halloween 1981, Britain's most Dark Lord died thanks to Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. L Lawliet, soon-to-be World's Greatest Detective, was born on Halloween 1981…or rather, Tom Riddle was. HPxDN Crossover.

**Word Count: **2'390 words

**A/N: **Well, many people wanted me to continue this, so, I did :D

Just to warn you, this won't be a spoof or crack, though there will be humourous moments. It will be delving a little into the darker parts of Harry Potter, but won't be horror or anything. Just for those mildly squeamish, there'll be a little blood and violence, but just a little. It will mostly be mental damage in the end.

Also, in Death Note, it says that L was born in 1979, which I found odd because Raito was born in 1989, and L was seven years older, and as Raito was born in 1989 in Feburary, L must have been born in 1981 Halloween (because when he died he had his birthday before then and was 25, but I think Raito was seventeen then or eighteen, I dunno…), unless my crappy math skills are fooling me, I think that's right. Or I've gotten Raito's date of birth wrong…

Whatever, just know that I've tweaked the timeline and L was born in 1981 rather than 1979.

Also, this chapter has been written for a looong time, but I thought I'd write out the other few chapters out first before posting, to make sure I've gotten everything okay for the beginning...I'll post up the few I have in a week and a half interval...lots of reviews may make me post 'em up faster ;) Nah, I'm kidding...you don't have to review but I'd much appreciate it!

Well, I hope y'all enjoy!

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"_If all else fails, immortality can always be assured by spectacular error."_

_--- John Kenneth Galbraith_

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**CHAPTER ONE: BEGIN**

L lived in an orphanage.

Well, technically, that was a rather loose way of referring to the place where he lived. Though it did, indeed, house orphan children, they were 'special' children, those that were cast out of other, proper, orphanages or homes due to that specialness. This orphanage, Wammy's House, collected children with superior minds.

And L knew that he was the most superior of them all.

This was not arrogance, well, maybe some arrogance, but he _knew_ things better than the other children, even the older ones who had 'experience'. He understood complex theories within seconds, split his attention between many projects and yet still complete them all flawlessly, and able to recite every single word in the encyclopaedia up to the letter 'F', and halfway through 'G' – a few more days and he'll be able to start on 'H'.

He wasn't sure _how_ he came to this orphanage, everyone had their story, tragic or otherwise, but he knew, from the fuzzy backdrop of the blurred memories of his first year of life that his mother died after he was born. It was a miracle that he was alive, apparently, when he nosed around in his files during his curious fifth year of life, when a niggling urge to understand where he came from became too irritating to ignore being surrounded by children crying or laughing over their memories of parents and aunts and uncles. He was supposed to be stillborn, it said, but by some possible divine intervention, he was healthy and one hundred per cent _alive_.

L decided that that was the first, though not last, odd and almost _surreal_ event that happened to or around him.

L didn't have any friends, they were far too beneath his level of intelligence for him to converse with successfully, or did not like his brazen personality. The hurtful whispers of jealousy and uneasiness rolled off him like water on a duck's back. He did not care what _they_ thought, only what _he_ thought. Only his opinion mattered to himself, after all.

One whisper, he remembered in March during the seventh year of his life, hissed that he could _read minds_, and he almost laughed at that assumption. He could not _read _minds, minds were not books, rather, he thought minds were like a pile of boxes and folders, information and memories carefully catalogued away, or scattered about, depending whether or not the person was organized. And besides, such a useful ability was utter _rubbish_.

He was just very good at reading people's emotions and body language. The eyes were very expressive after all, and if you squint hard enough, you could almost _see_ their thoughts forming and flitting through their mind – if you read the body language and emotion correctly, of course, because mind reading was a myth.

There was _no_ magic involved. No paranormal stuff involved. None. What. So. Ever.

Unfortunately, the old man before him, a possible sufferer from Alzheimer's, did not seem to quite get that.

He had appeared quite suddenly on the foggy night of the 30th August of 1992, clad in blaring orange and purple robes embroidered with silvery stars and comets shimmering realistically across the clashing colours, the fabric swishing and sending the patterns skittering up and down. His beard was long, wispy and silver that threatened to drag on the floor, but when he was knocking on Mr. Wammy's office door, he had absentmindedly tucked the hair into his belt, humming a jerky melody as his twinkling blue eyes stared in interest at the grainy mahogany wood of Mr. Wammy's door.

L knew this because he had been watching the surveillance cameras again, hacked from the local server of the Orphanage's computer room. He liked to know who was doing what, and which places to avoid lest the jealous, older children corner him again.

It seemed that no matter how many times L had kicked them in the groin or shoved them down the stairs, they didn't quite get the hint; nor did the strange bout of clumsiness and bad luck that afflicted them after they confronted him work, either.

There were no cameras in Mr. Wammy's office, or ones that could be hacked into anyway, so L stared intently at the screen, a roiling sense of caution and strong dislike waging a backdrop brawl in the back of his head. The old man, his silvery long beard and tasteless clothes, had sent a part of him reeling, snarling angrily as if the elderly gentleman had done something unforgivable towards him.

L had thought this was very strange, as he had certainly never seen the old man before.

Then Roger had came to him, glanced at him disapprovingly at seeing the multitude of mini windows on the screen and firmly told him to come to Mr. Wammy's office immediately as there was an important matter that had to be attended to. L was not cowed by the elder's critical stare, and had done so, shutting down the computer and shuffling down along the orphanage's corridors towards the office, where a gnawing pit of…something ravaged his stomach.

And this was why L was getting increasingly agitated as the minutes wore on, his dislike growing and growing in his chest until he thought he was going to explode with rage – a foreign feeling as he had never felt such…such _intense_ emotions before! – or storm out of the room in disgust as the old man, who had introduced himself as Headmaster Dumbledore, continued to talk gaily about Hogwarts and wizards and witches and the like, with Mr. Wammy watching quietly from behind his desk, a small glint of dawning realization in the small grey eyes.

"I apologize for my rudeness, Headmaster Dumbledore." L interjected with a certain tone that clearly conveyed that he wasn't sorry for his rudeness _at all_. "But you are very confused and detached from reality. Magic does not exist."

And Headmaster Dumbledore had the gall to laugh, as if L had uttered a very childish shout of petty anger. "My boy," He exclaimed, and that made L bristle and want to hiss at him. "Surely some strange occurrences had happened around you?"

L refused to answer a man as insane as he was, and turned to Mr. Wammy with a blank look. "Mr. Wammy, may I leave? He is spouting nonsense."

"Not yet, Lawliet." The elderly man murmured, grey eyes fixed intently on the colourful clad man that had procured some kind of confectionary from his robes. "Professor Dumbledore, strange occurrences _have_ happened with Lawliet, though they are ones that can be associated to honest mistakes or acts of God."

"Ah yes…" Headmaster Dumbledore, unpeeled the crinkly clear plastic around the treat, popping it into his mouth with a contented hum. "I had heard that someone was injured. Tripped over his feet after harming young Mr. Lawliet and cracked his head against the floor, correct?"

"I do not like what you are insinuating, Headmaster Dumbledore." L stated sharply, rage winning over disgust, his wide obsidian eyes narrowing and meeting twinkling blue eyes boldly.

"Magic, if not learned to be controlled at a very young age, can lash out indiscriminatingly at what it and the wielder deem as a hostile threat." Headmaster Dumbledore continued, sucking on the sweet and holding one out to the incensed child. "Lemon drop?"

"I don't take sweets from strangers, Headmaster Dumbledore." L answered tightly, feeling his ire increase as the old man's twinkling blue eyes failed to give anything away. Infuriating.

He _hated_ him.

The sudden realisation of this sent him mentally reeling, and he didn't like it.

Headmaster Dumbledore did not seem at all offended by L's cold refusal. "Accidental magic it is called, and it appears in magical children at a very young age. Your mother died during childbirth, on Halloween 1981, correct?"

"Yes." Mr. Wammy answered this time, grey eyes sliding over to whom he thought of as his protégé and his greatest success. "Doctors were amazed that he survived. He should have been stillborn."

Headmaster Dumbledore hummed, as if he already knew that – which L had a sneaking suspicion that he did. "Yes. The day Lord Voldemort died due to a rebounded curse from the Boy-Who-Lived."

It was an offhand comment, no subtle insults or innuendos hidden in the innocuous sentence. But it ignited a sudden rush of complete and utter _fury_ within L that the nine year old had to stifle a gasp and close his eyes against a whistling rush in his ears and the throbbing heat hissing like an enraged serpent in his chest.

"Lawliet?"

Mr. Wammy. L's eyes snapped open, obsidian eyes meeting calm blue eyes with an eerie blankness. "I need to leave."

And he fled.

**X.x.X**

Dumbledore was right.

Unfortunately, this did not spark a feeling of triumph like it would usually do. Rather the grim satisfaction of one successfully anticipating a sick action of an opponent, but unable to do anything to cushion or avoid the blow.

Voldemort's taint was clinging tightly to the boy's core; in fact, the taint _was_ the boy's Magical Core, as was the magic and the soul and…well, everything. The suspicious gaze, the hair, the pallor of the skin, the stubborn denial of magic and cold hostility dragged up sad memories of a young Tom Riddle sitting down on the threadbare cot in a run down orphanage in London.

This…was a living, breathing Horcrux.

Dumbledore couldn't allow young L to linger here, unprotected by magical means from Death Eaters who would eventually feel Voldemort calling out to them, and though they might not know about Horcruxes, as Tom's tendency to horde knowledge and artefacts like a neurotic raccoon tended to leave his followers in the dark about what precautions he took, they may think he was the reincarnation of Dark Lord, and may awaken the slumbering monster in the form of a young orphan.

Dumbledore could not allow that. He needed to take young L away from here, away from any hostile environments that would rekindle Tom's vindictive streak using magic for malicious means and away from the threat of a Death Eater stumbling here – that may cause the deaths of all these Muggle children, by L's hands or the Death Eaters'.

"Mr. Wammy," Dumbledore smiled, meeting the calculating grey eyes with twinkling full blast. "I have a proposition for you that would benefit both your facility and young Lawliet."

Mr. Wammy, an elderly gentleman who looked more like a butler than the owner of this establishment focused on the refinement of these brilliant minds, inclined his head minutely, grey eyes narrowing speculatively. "I am still not convinced fully about this 'Magic' business."

Dumbledore's smile grew. That problem would be easily fixed. "I can prove it to you, if you wish."

"Also," Mr. Wammy leant forwards by a few inches, the aura of a veteran fighter leaking into his butlery posture. "L is being trained to become the world's greatest detective. I hope that this proposition would not conflict with this? We'd hate to drop to second best because you decided to spirit away our prize option – against his will no less."

"No need to worry, Mr. Wammy." Dumbledore slipped out his wand, flicking it absently and conjuring a floating cup of tea. To his credit, Mr. Wammy didn't even flinch or show any sign of surprise. "Once he finishes his education in controlling his magic, he may return to the Muggle world if he wishes it and become a…detective. He can return during holidays as well, and continue his training then. It is paramount, however, that he learns to control his magic."

"I thought that students attended this school of yours at eleven years old. L is still only ten until October. Wouldn't it be logical to enrol him next year?"

The Headmaster kicked his twinkle up another notch. Mr. Wammy was uncomfortably suspicious and sharp. Perhaps _that_ was why L was so cautious rather than young Tom's influence. "Mr. Lawliet is a…special case." He admitted.

"Special." Mr. Wammy's voice was flat.

"Yes." Dumbledore held the gaze, eyes twinkling madly. Special indeed. It took him a while, but he was finally able to find the remainders of Lord Voldemort. All that was needed was taming it.

"…" Mr. Wammy stared at the Headmaster evenly, before inclining his head once more. "Lawliet will have to continue his training throughout the holidays, and if there is any sign of him being hurt or damaged in any way by attending your school, we will pull him out. Immediately. Lawliet is far too valuable."

It was good that Dumbledore was taking young Lawliet away from such a harsh environment like this. It was just creating another Tom Riddle.

**X.x.X**

"Impossible."

A pyramid of sugar cubes was mercilessly knocked down, the white blocks scattering across the desk and tipping over the side or colliding against heavy textbooks, crumbling into individual granules.

"It is unbelievable."

L swept spindly fingers through his ebony hair, white dust clinging to the strands and peppering the inky black tresses with white. Never before had he felt so…_unbalanced_. He had never felt anything more intense than mild irritation or excitement, and here he was, feeling such volatile emotions like rage and fear and disgust. All because of that senile old man and his rambling about magic.

What was this? A fairytale?!

A muffled thud snapped the ten year old out of his brooding thoughts, the boy swivelling his computer chair round to see that a few books hand tumbled off his shelf onto the foot of his bed.

His room. So impersonal. White washed walls. White sheets. No posters or pictures or personal items. Nothing. Bland. Soothing.

Evening his breaths, L slid out of his protective crouch and scuttled towards his bed, wondering how the thick encyclopaedias tumbled off their secure perch on the shelf. After a bit of struggling, he managed to heave the two thick books onto the sturdy shelf and crawled onto his bed, curled up in fetal position.

He pressed his forehead against his knees, listening to his breathing.

_In, out, in, out, in, out…_

Magic. What a laugh.

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**A/N: **How was that? You like? I thought about how a ten year old L would react to the word magic, and decided that he'd be very cynical because I find it hard to imagine L, child or otherwise, being all awed.

Yesh. I know logically L would be enrolled at around Harry's third year, but I wanted to place him during Harry's second year for a reason. It's probably pretty obvious why but…eh.

Hope y'all enjoyed!


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